From Pitt River - The Shasta Courier newspaper of Shasta, May 14, 1853
From Pitt River - The Shasta Courier newspaper of Shasta, May 21, 1853
Welcome to Exploring Shasta County history... With this blog, I am bringing to life the stories of the early day pioneers and some of the oft-forgotten history of a bygone era in Shasta County, California. I'll also focus on important events after the turn of the 20th century. I would like to reflect upon current historical sites of the modern age as well. This is copyrighted by Jeremy M. Tuggle.
RESOURCES:
1850 U.S. Census
1860 U.S. Census
Great Register of Shasta County, 1866
1870 U.S. Census
New Town — The Shasta Courier newspaper of Shasta, June 15, 1872
Redding — The Shasta Courier newspaper of Shasta, August 3, 1872
First Train — The Shasta Courier newspaper of Shasta, September 7, 1872
Trip to Redding — The Shasta Courier newspaper of Shasta, September 28, 1872
1880 U.S. Census
History and Business Directory — Shasta County, by B. F. Frank and H. W. Chappell. Redding Independent Book and Job Printing House, Redding, California, 1881
Incorporation Prevails — The Republican Free Press newspaper of Redding, September 3, 1887
Supervisors Proceedings, May Term 1888 — The Shasta Courier newspaper of Shasta, May 19, 1888
Listing of Redding Mayors, 1887–2007
U.S., Appointments of U.S. Postmasters, 1832–1971, available on microfilm in the archives of the Shasta Historical Society
Outpost on Poverty Flats, by Charles J. Gleeson. Redding Printing Company, 1978
Redding the First Hundred Years, by Edward Petersen. North-Cal Printing & Litho., 1972
A History of Redding: The Early Years, 1872–1875, by Al M. Rocca. Renown Publishing, 2014
Association of Territorial Pioneers of California certificate presented to Chauncey Carroll Bush Sr., 1883
The Bank of Shasta County — The Free Press and Record Searchlight newspapers of Redding, 1880s–1903
Post Office to Have Handsome New Quarters Adjoining Bank of Shasta County — Weekly Searchlight newspaper of Redding, September 19, 1902
Notice to Contractors — The Searchlight newspaper of Redding, March 8, 1903
Dressed in a New Suit of Clothes — The Searchlight newspaper of Redding, March 18, 1903
Colonial Dames Exhibit Antiques — The Searchlight newspaper of Redding, February 24, 1903
Fire Wipes Out a Pioneer Home — The Searchlight newspaper of Redding, July 26, 1904
Redding Had a $75,000 Blaze — Record Searchlight newspaper of Redding, July 5, 1904
Will Meet with the Committee on Irrigation — Record Searchlight newspaper of Redding, June 9, 1905
The Bank of Shasta County, written by Mary Graham Bush, The Covered Wagon, Shasta Historical Society, 1973
Shasta Historical Society archival collections, Redding, California
Reading Lodge No. 254 and Western Star Lodge No. 2 historical records and portrait collections

Source: Shasta State Historic Park
In May of 1876, the quiet residential streets of the historic town of Shasta were disturbed by a grim discovery that brought a deeply private tragedy into public view. Beneath the floor of a small woodhouse behind a home on Back Street, a woman's ordinary household routine led to the discovery of a female infant's remains. The discovery led to a coroner's inquest and placed several of Shasta's established citizens in the unusual position of determining what could—and could not—be concluded about the child's death.
The Discovery on Back Street
The discovery was made on May 23, 1876, at the property of local resident Jack Anderson, who lived on Back Street in Shasta. While attending to her daily household chores, Mrs. Jack Anderson entered the woodhouse at the rear of the dwelling. There, she discovered the body of a female infant concealed beneath the floor. The remains had been wrapped in several pieces of wearing apparel and lightly covered with loose earth and rubbish.
Most disturbing was a strip of muslin cloth, approximately two inches wide, that had been drawn twice around the infant's neck and tied in a hard knot. The circumstances immediately raised questions about how the child had died and why the body had been hidden beneath the floor.
The Coroner's Inquest
The discovery was reported to Shasta County Coroner William P. Hartmann, who convened an inquest on May 24, 1876. A coroner's jury was assembled from among men known in the community. Their names included August Grotefend, Adolph Dobrowsky, Julius Leiter, Emanuel Lewin, Jasper Smith, and John Stowell.
These were not anonymous men. They were established residents of a community that, although considerably diminished from its Gold Rush heyday, still retained a network of merchants, craftsmen, and other longtime citizens. Their participation illustrates how such investigations in a small nineteenth-century community could quickly become matters of public knowledge. The jury examined the infant's remains and heard the testimony presented to the coroner. The cloth around the child's neck was an unsettling piece of evidence, but the circumstances surrounding the birth and death were not sufficiently clear to establish that a criminal homicide had occurred.
A Cautious Verdict
The jury ultimately determined that the deceased was a female infant approximately one and a half months old. Their verdict stated that the child was "supposed to be stillborn." That conclusion was significant. Rather than declaring that the infant had been murdered, the jurors stopped short of finding that the child had been born alive and subsequently killed. The evidence available to them apparently did not establish that the infant had lived independently after birth.
The verdict therefore left unanswered the most disturbing questions surrounding the case. The cloth tied around the child's neck remained an ominous detail, but the jury did not convert that circumstance into a formal finding of homicide. The jurors did, however, record one additional conclusion: they believed the infant was the child of a local woman named Sarah Baxter.
What the Record Tells Us—and What It Does Not
The identification of Sarah Baxter is one of the most revealing aspects of the surviving account, but it must also be treated carefully. The inquest record, as reported, identifies her as the presumed mother; it does not by itself establish the circumstances surrounding the pregnancy, the birth, or the infant's death.
It would be tempting to assume that the hidden burial resulted from the social pressures surrounding an unmarried pregnancy or an illegitimate birth. Such pressures certainly existed in nineteenth-century California, but the surviving account does not provide enough evidence to say that this was Sarah Baxter's particular situation.
What can be established is more restrained—and in some ways more haunting. A newborn child had been concealed beneath the floor of a backyard woodhouse. The infant had been wrapped in clothing, a strip of muslin had been tied twice around her neck, and a coroner's jury was unable to determine conclusively that she had been born alive. The jury nevertheless recorded the name of the woman they believed to be her mother. Beyond that, the historical record becomes silent.
A Glimpse Behind Shasta's Public Facade
Cases such as this offer a different view of Shasta than the familiar stories of merchants, miners, freight teams, saloons, and bustling streets. Shasta had been a ramshackle mining community from the beginning. By 1876, the great Gold Rush boom had long since passed, and Shasta was a much quieter place. Yet behind the town's surviving buildings and familiar pioneer names were private lives marked by poverty, family difficulties, childbirth, death, and circumstances that rarely appeared in the official histories of the community.
The tragedy discovered on Back Street lasted only briefly in the public record. There was no celebrated criminal trial and no dramatic conviction. Instead, the story survives through the terse proceedings of a coroner's inquest—a handful of names, a concealed infant, and a verdict carefully limited to what the evidence could establish.
Today, the case of Shasta's forgotten infant is a reminder that the history of a frontier town was not made only by the men whose names appeared in business advertisements or public offices. It was also shaped by ordinary people confronting deeply personal tragedies, sometimes behind closed doors and sometimes, as in May 1876, beneath the very floorboards of their homes. The jury could determine only what the evidence allowed. The questions they could not answer remain buried with the child. No record has yet been found identifying where the infant was ultimately buried.